Prognosticating the Last Frontier

(This is my attempt to justify my frequent gallivanting to the Philippines' last remaining Paradise - Palawan, I love! I was assigned by the Philippine Heart Association to make an article about Palawan, which is a cross between a travelogue and a medical eye-opener. Here it is.)

It is known among Filipino travelers that anyone who visits Palawan can never resist its charm. This phenomenon is called Kambak-Kambak syndrome, where visitors to Palawan inevitably fall in love with the place and invariably desire to come back. Some would even choose to stay there for good. This is not surprising since Palawan is definitely one of the most beautiful places in the country, perhaps even the world. Touted by the National Geographic as one of the Top 20 Best Trips for 2011, Palawan boasts of pristine beaches, secluded lagoons, magnificent limestone karst cliffs, lush rainforests, and coral reefs with the highest biodiversity.

My addiction with Palawan began in 2010, after witnessing a number of my friends acquire the legendary Kambak-Kambak Syndrome. At that time, I had already roamed around perhaps half of all the provinces of the Philippines, but I’ve never set foot in Palawan. Being a low-budget traveler, I had this notion that traveling to Palawan was expensive. My friends convinced me otherwise. While there are some luxurious, extravagant, and ridiculously expensive resorts in Palawan, there are more budget-friendly, rustic accommodations that cater to backpackers like me.

So in 2010, I brought my backpack and my camera and decided to experience Palawan. My first trip was to Puerto Princesa, to explore the famous St. Paul’s Subterranean River (also called the Puerto Princesa Underground River), chosen by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, and the Philippines’ only bet for the selection of the New Seven Wonders of Nature that will conclude at the end of 2011. True enough, I went back to Palawan after barely three months, and then came back again, and again.

Palawan is the largest province of the Philippines, with a total land area of almost 15,000 square kilometers. It comprises almost 2,000 kilometers of coastline stretching across 1,768 islands. Because of this huge land area, Palawan is the 2^nd province in the Philippines with the lowest population density (the number one being Batanes). Notable destinations in the province include the Calamianes Islands, the biggest of which are Busuanga and Coron. Also famous, especially among foreign travelers, is the Bacuit Archipelago located in the town of El Nido in the northern part of Palawan. The town of San Vicente, midway between Puerto Princesa and El Nido, has picturesque white-sand beaches that stretch for miles, perfect for the world-weary soul who needs to rest from the stresses of the city. South of Puerto Princesa are the towns of Narra and Aborlan, with verdant rainforests and unspoiled waterfalls. Other interesting destinations include the southern towns of Brooke’s Point and Bataraza and the quaint, mysterious island-towns of Cuyo and Cagayancillo over the eastern side of Palawan Island.

The city of Puerto Princesa, despite being a bustling metropolis, is an ecotourism destination by itself. It is the 2^nd biggest city in the Philippines in terms of land area (next to Davao), and is consistently among the cleanest and most peaceful cities in the country every year. Dubbed as a “city within a forest”, it has a charming mix of the energy of urban life in a laid-back, leisurely pace. There are a variety of activities that would suit any kind of traveler – Ugong Rock climbing for the adventurous types, dolphin-watching, island hopping and beach-bumming at Honda Bay for those who just want to relax, hiking across the Monkey Trail toward the underground river in Sabang for those who want to rough it up, banca ride along a mangrove swamp in Poyuy-Poyuy River in Sabang for those who want some peace and quiet. I recently watched the fireflies along Iwahig River (it was a surreal experience) and fed the fishes at Pandan and Snake Islands at Honda Bay (which was awesome in a giggly way). Definitely, I’m coming back for more!

During my last visit to the province, I had the opportunity to meet doctors from the Palawan Provincial Health Office. It was then that I learned that despite the many accolades bestowed upon the natural wonders of the province, much remains to be done in terms of improvement of the health situation of the Palawenos. Because of the sheer magnitude of Palawan’s land area, the number one problem remains to be the lack of access to health services for a significant portion of the population. The province of Palawan has 23 municipalities (including Kalayaan town in the Spratlys Group of Islands which has a population of 300). Some of these towns remain doctorless, with health facilities being manned only by a town nurse or a lay barangay health worker.

According to Dr. Louie Ocampo, Chief for Planning and Research of the Palawan Provincial Health Office, Palawan is considered by the Department of Health as a Geographically Isolated and Disadvantaged Area (GIDA), where the most common health concerns are still communicable diseases such as malaria and infectious diarrhea. While the incidence of non-communicable and lifestyle-related diseases is increasing particularly in the more urbanized areas, the main focus of the government is still on basic problems such as maternal and child health and malaria eradication. The lack of skilled manpower and the sparse population spread over a great distance prove to be the biggest hindrances to improvement of health services in the province.

One of the islets in El Nido town. Tour packages are standardized, and these include a guide, boat trip to a specified set of islands, and a sumptuous lunch of seafoods by the beach. El Nido, November 2010.

A fisherman faces Ulugan Bay at day break. Sabang, Puerto Princesa, Palawan. Palawan’s fishing grounds are among the richest in the Philippines, supplying more than 30% of commercial fish output in the country.

Experimenting with 30-second exposure while watching the fireflies along Iwahig River. Not as pretty as the fireflies but pretty enough for posting. Iwahig, Puerto Princesa. October 2011.

A long beach at Snake Island, one of the destinations included in a standard Honda Bay tour. Just a few meters offshore, visitors can feed the fishes with bread. There are also excellent snorkeling sites.

Sunset at Roxas town. Roxas is a 1^st class municipality north of Puerto Princesa. Aside from being the urban capital of the north of mainland Palawan, it is also considered as the “Cashew Capital of the Philippines”, being the primary producer of cashew nuts for the country.

Even in urbanized Puerto Princesa, there is still a relative paucity of doctors. There is only one tertiary hospital and there are several secondary hospitals. A number of medical subspecialties are still not available and patients with diagnostic and therapeutic dilemmas would frequently travel all the way to Manila for medical consultation. At present, there are only two practicing cardiologists in Puerto Princesa: Dr. Josefina Goh-Cruz and Dr. Gilbert Paa.

With Palawan’s beauty and diverse possibilities of adventure and exploration in an ecosystem that remains relatively undisturbed, Palawan is indeed the Philippines’ Last Frontier. Sadly, this may also be true in terms of health care. Hence, the challenge lies not only in preserving Palawan’s ecology, it is also in sending brave frontiersmen and women who will change the health landscape of the province. For doctors who still do not know where to go or what to do with their lives, try Palawan. And then kambak-kambak, dare to make a difference.

Flipped

Because of the wise suggestion of BOTD, I invoked the powers of piracy, downloaded the movie Flipped, and shamelessly cried several times over it like some stupid high school kid. This movie, another Rob Reiner masterpiece, is about two small-town children, the girl's waxing and waning obsession over her boy neighbor, and the boy's efforts to dodge her. Cute. In the end, it was all about a sycamore tree.

Now I want my own sycamore tree too.

*********

If my life is one movie with a voice-over, this part of my life will be called the inventory part - that part where the main actress (me) is staring out the window with some nice music playing on the background and the narrator making a list of the wicked things men did to me. And since my life is one comedy romantic (or lack of it) movie, this part has to be full of good humor and wit, characteristic of those Rob Reiner and Cameron Crowe films that I adore.

Let me cite a few examples of these hilarious incidents. I'll limit these interactions to conversations in text messages (that means the real conversations can be funnier, geeez!). Bato bato sa langit, ang tamaan, deadma! To whom this may concern, as if binabasa 'nyo ito! Hmp! Just remember this is fiction. Just fiction, ok? (Uuuy, defensive!)

Here goes...

Incident #1.

Him: Hi Jean. Wanna have lunch?

Me (smiling while texting): Sure. :-) Why?

Him: Well, I'm hungry and I figured you're hungry too.

(nyaaay, sweet!)

Incident #2.

Him: Hey, are you free for dinner later?

Me (kilig again): Sure, but I'm still finishing rounds.

Him: OK, next time.

(huh?!?)

Incident #3.

Him: Happy birthday, Jean!

Me (kilig again): Wow, you remembered! Thanks. :-)

Him: It's my secretary's birthday and her name's Jean too.

(Oh, ok...)

Incident #4. (after an awesome day)

Me (feeling a bit flirty): Hey, thanks for coming over. I had one rare perfect day.:-)

Him: Yeah, great weather.

(Aaawww! WTF!#$!)

Incident #5. (after 6 months of no communication)

Him: Beer?

(Putcha pare, OK ka ah!)

Incident #6.

Him: Hi Jean. Do you have time for breakfast tomorrow?

Me (blushing and excited): Sure. Ano meron?;-)

Him: Wala lang. Just breakfast.

(Oo nga naman!)

And the list can go on and on. The funny thing is, I like it! Whoever the scriptwriter is, he's awfully good! I wouldn't want to change these asshole remarks into anything a bit sweeter and sappier. For boy bloggers reading this, however, just a word of caution before you use these on other women: this may not work for everyone. You might get slapped or dumped right there and then. Unfortunately for me, they work like magic. Sigh. I've flipped.

More on Mr. Endagered Species

I therefore conclude that Mr. Endangered Species must be a dragon. He's elusive, terrifying, stuff for legends, and very very rare (endangered na nga e!). Legions of folks spend their lives following their tracks, only to be disappointed, or even killed in the process. Some find him, momentarily, but he breathes fire out his nostrils, leaving the beholder charred and broken and disfigured forever.

I'm a dragon hunter myself. It's not an easy plight but oh well, I'd rather have that dragon. There were months when I've learned to live in peace and plenty, with no apparent trauma from Mr. Dragon, and then all of sudden, just when National Geographic declared dragons extinct, you find your old friend-slash-nemesis swoop down from the sky like a nasty Nazgul, setting fire to everything you've built.

Then one day, I finally managed to gather enough guts and gumption to face my dragon and tell him, without batting an eyelash, "Darn, Your Royal Weirdness. You may be endangered but you know what? You are such an ass." Ah, the royal fire-breathing ass. I feel like a knight wielding a spear to poor endangered beast's heart. I'm the great Eowyn who felled the dreaded Nazgul, hahaha, congratulate me.

Dragon got up, felt nothing, went back to Mordor to hide in the fires of Mt. Doom. And I'm, oh well, I'm still around poring over dragon fossils, and my long tedious dragon-hunting story is still ongoing, like a sappy Pinoy telenovela that refuses to end. Sigh, I have to concede. There is yet to be a "To be continued". Aaaargh.

The L Word

Today, I realized I'm utterly worn out and fed up with this man-hunting business that I'm calling
it quits. Seriously. This cherry-popping endeavor is simply way out of my league. So what if I end up with a prunified cherry? So what if I'm a grumpy, lonely, SINGLE octogenarian lady admitted at PGH Ward 1? I am conceding, finally. After years of hoping that I'll ever move out of this singlehood clique and finally be among the ranks of those elite enough to have their Facebook statuses changed to "in a relationship", I'm giving up.

I'm putting that "L" sign on my forehead. Not Lesbian, dumbass. This hot, smart lady (ehem) who used to (used to, take note) believe in Prince Charming is 100% straight. I was only searching for an eccentric, traveling, brooding prince who knows how to spell! I wasn't looking for a Tom Cruise or a Brad Pitt (but I won't say no to a Jim Sturgess, haha), an OK-faced guy would have been enough. And yeah, if he's taller than me, loves the Beatles, plays the guitar and has a good singing voice, I'd ask him to marry me. Plus if he has a stable job, I'd beg him, down on bended knees, please Mr. Endangered Species, please stay and be my man.

Let me tell you about the incident that pushed me over the ledge of prunification. Today, a beautiful, rainy Sunday, I had this rare encounter with His Royal Weirdness, Mr. Endangered Species. Of course my crazy L-self had this silly alarm that went off immediately. It was perfect. He was perfect. We had breakfast but the conversation was so good we had to extend to lunch, then beer. It was pure chemistry. We had to part late in the afternoon though. Too bad.

Hopeful and giddy with excitement, my silly L self decided to play a little flirting game. An hour after Mr. Endangered Species dropped me off at the hospital, I sent him a text: "Thanks for the great time. It's been one rare perfect day."

I was just so happy and so high that if he texted "Tnx rn phow, iMiszqcKyuH... ", I would have ran along Roxas Boulevard under the rain all the way to his house and ask him to marry me. To my chagrin however, Mr. Endangered replied the smartest, sweetest line I've encountered: "Yeah, great weather."

Pak!!! Minsan na nga lang ako lumandi, palpak pa. Waaaaah...

So if you see me walking along the hospital corridors with a sore face and an L on my forehead, just give me a smile and your sincere condolences. I'm currently mourning the loss of Prince Charming. Mr. Endangered Species is now officially extinct. Let the prunification begin!

Ilocos in 48 hours

Last weekend, I had this intense, almost pathological need to be on a bus to anywhere. So before I set out for work last Friday, I packed my bag and my camera, bloghopped about possible destinations doable in one weekend, and decided to set out for the Ilocandias.

At 5PM, after a long day at the hospital, I shed off my white coat and my office attire, donned my favorite travel pants and slippers, and set out for another healing journey. For adventure seekers, here's my travel itinerary:

Friday
7PM - Leave for Pagudpud (GV Florida Bus with its terminal along Lacson St. in Sampaloc. Fare: P700)

Saturday
7AM - Arrive at Pagudpud Public Market; Take a trip to Saud Beach for accommodations.
8AM - Start tour. They have standard tricycle rates in Pagudpud: P600 for South (Burgos, Bangui, etc) and P600 for north (Pagudpud areas). Left my backpack at the resort in Saud. I haggled and haggled until the price for an overnight stay was reduced from P1000 to P600.
9AM - Kapurpurawan Rock Formations, Burgos, Ilocos Norte. This was the best sight so far. My tour guide was wise in making this the first leg of our tour. The sun wasn't so hot yet and the place was isolated. I could enjoy the view in quiet and take pictures without other tourists around.
10:30AM - Cape Bojeador, Burgos. I spent several minutes talking to Kuya Celso, the 4th generation lighthouse keeper.
11:30AM - Bangui Windmills, Bangui. The famous Ilocos Norte landmark.
12:30PM - Kabigan Falls. The obscure site can be reached after a 20 - 30 minute trek across farmlands and semi-forested trails.
2:30PM - Patapat Viaduct. This is an engineering feat during the Marcos era.
3:30 PM - Timmagtang Rock, Bantay Abot Cave, Mairaira Beach (Blue Lagoon)
4:30PM - Back at Saud, snack at a nearby restaurant, freshen up, have several beers, watch the sunset (that never came in my case, because of an afternoon rain), sleep

Sunday
5:30AM - Walk along Saud Beach
7:30AM - Back at Pagudpud Public Market; Take a bus to Laoag
9:30AM - Walk around Laoag, eat empanada, take photos
10:30AM - Jumped into a jeep bound for Paoay. Paoay Church. Missed out on the lake because tricycle drivers tried to rip me off by demanding exorbitant fees. Besides, the sun was already burning hot.
11AM - Batac for Marcos Museum. Seeing him mummified in that glass coffin was eerie and strange.
11:30PM - Stayed at the sidewalk in Batac to catch a bus to Vigan.
2PM - Arrived in Vigan. Took a calesa ride around the city. For more alta-ness. Heritage Village, Vigan Bell Tower.
4PM - Took a Partas bus to Manila.

Total expenses: P4.5K (all in)

I was in the hospital by 12 midnight for a conference at 8AM. By 1AM, I was typing at my laptop cramming for a report the next morning.

Kapurpurawan Rock Formations, Burgos, Ilocos Norte

Fisherman's net and the windmills of Bangui

The windmills in fish-eye

Cape Bojeador, Burgos, Ilocos Norte

Patapat Viaduct, Pagudpu, Ilocos Norte

Heritage Village, Vigan Ilocos Sur.

The famous longganisa of Vigan

To all aspiring solo travelers out there (the females, especially): TRAVELING SOLO IS DOABLE! Do an "Eat, Pray, Love". But be careful with the love part. When you travel alone, you won't necessarily find a man, but you will certainly get to love - yourself and the world around you.

Ondoyesue

While Typhoon Falcon was raging outside, I was stuck in my warm, cozy palace called Philippine General Hospital. Taft Avenue was like a moat surrounding this colossal structure, so my 24-hour duty was relatively quiet and free from the barrage of patients invading the establishment. A marketplace - that's the usual scenario in this place. Yesterday, I spent half my time taking advantage of the fringe benefits my low-paying job affords - free internet.

Outside my window, I could see torrential rains pouring down the city. The sky was like an Emo over-acting lady who can't stop crying. She has been having her tantrums for the past 48 hours and she still hasn't stopped. I fear another Ondoy. I am a rain lover but I don't welcome another Ondoy. It's just too much.

********

Last night, I had this rare chance of chatting with an old friend, His Royal Weirdness otherwise known as My Friend J of the McDreamy Fame. I haven't seen him for some time. But as mentioned before, in my previous entries, conversations with him are always better than anything I could ever think of. They're so good I had to avoid them.

Anyway, we talked about the rains, the beautiful inconsistencies of life, and the diverging paths of our inertia - his towards unstoppable restlessness and mine towards remaining still. Life has been good to both of us, I believe. Connections of this sort make me think of karma, or destiny, or unexplained phenomena that you'd rather leave unexplained.

Then I remember Ondoy. Storms come and go. Sometimes they come when you need them the most, to rid your life of certain unnecessary rubbish. Sometimes, they just come, for no reason at all.

Perhaps lightning strikes the same place twice. Thrice. Many more times. Perhaps storms follow the exact same path. Perhaps parallel lines meet in the end. Perhaps the things we avoid are the things we need, and the things that hurt us the most are the same things that keep us alive.

I Miss My Whoring Days

Some months ago, I decided to turn over a new leaf and stop my conversation whoring. I felt I needed to give myself a break, that I owed myself some self respect, so I decided to turn down all my whoring customers. I made lies, fabricated diseases to shoo them away, blamed my depression and anhedonia and even my poverty, conditioned my brain to abhor alcohol, and just stopped entertaining anyone in need of my whoring skills. When pushed against the wall (i.e when I'm face-to-face with anyone who expects to be entertained by good conversation), I just give them the stare, respond with short, boring statements, nod once in a while, and doze off.

This morning, I woke up feeling empty. I'm probably a conversation nymphomania and I miss my whoring. Now my steady customers have gone, they're probably getting their fix from other women. Too bad. Here I am, an old whore who has seen better days. I wonder if I still have my whoring skills intact. If my old customers come back, I wouldn't mind to give it to them for free. I won't even mind new and enthusiastic first-timers. I just need my whoring skills back.

Here's a post I did 2 years ago about my whoring.

Very early this morning, at around 4AM, I woke up with a start. After 4 hours of sleep, my mind was still actively churning out conversations, regurgitating old spoken statements and ruminating on them again and again. The body was sleeping, the mind was awake. So when the body awoke too, I allowed it to listen to the words my mind was spewing out at a rate of a hundred words per minute. Two words stood out, pointed accusingly at me: TALK WHORE.

The term came up after I realized that for some way or another and for a very long time, I’ve been doing some whoring myself. Not the traditional whore, mind you. But as I said, I’m a talk whore. That doesn’t seem too hard to understand. You see there’s the traditional whore who gives out sex for a fee, someone always around ready to be mounted on by anyone in need of any humping. The talk whore is pretty much like that. Only, there’s no sex involved. It’s just all, well, you probably already got that, heavenly, orgasmic conversation.

The talk whore is somewhat akin to the meantime girl. However, the meantime girl is emotionally shackled to the meantime guy, hoping that someday she’d stop being the meantime girl and be the “one”. With the meantime girl, there’s sex involved, and there’s too much emotional investment. With the talk whore, a nice long conversation is all there is to it.

You go to a talk whore if you need someone to talk to. You visit at your own terms, your schedule, your choice of venue. If she has something in her mind that she needs to talk to you about, she has to wait until you would again want her enough for her services. You’re not available when she needs you, but when you ask for her, she’ll be around in an instant. It’s business at your own terms. After all, you are the paying customer.

The pay is actually cheap. Buy her dinner or a few drinks and you’d get excellent conversation in return. You know she can’t harm you because she will keep all your dirty secrets to herself. You give her a ring-side ticket to the mess you call your life and she’ll sincerely applaud you, win or lose. She gets a front-seat ticket to the soap opera that features you, and she’ll loudly laugh at all the absurdities you’ve gone through, and secretly cry for all the tragedies you’ve had. And if you do give her a supporting role in your soap, she gets to play the part of the girl with amnesia. Proudly and all too willingly.

With her, you lose track of time. You reveal your secrets, you unleash your mind. You wonder out loud, hope out loud, even pray out loud. She trusts you just as much. To you, she’s as transparent as a pane of glass, as clear and as placid as a pool of water undisturbed for years. She has seen through your soul, but despite everything she saw, you’re sure that nothing will ever be taken against you. She also allows you to see through her soul, but then, so what?

When the evening comes to a close and you have nothing else to talk about anymore, you drop her off at the side of the road. She thanks you for the great evening and walks on home without looking back. No questions asked, no threats, no invitations, no pleas. She just made herself available to you and all you had to give was your time and the free meal. There are no strings attached, no emotional anchors, no additional charges. She’s inanimate, incapable of feeling, she's just your talk whore.

She knows it may take months before you suddenly show up like a ghost again. She also accepts the possibility that you may no longer ever show up again. She moves on with her life, hesitantly at first, but she’s smart enough to know her place in the world. She’s just a talk whore, and she knows it. She's insane enough to live with it. Your secrets are safe, your life, dirt and all, will always be revered the way she will honor her own. She won’t go looking for you, but she’ll be right there if you ever need her again.

To all of you who keep their own talk whores, you might want to reconsider increasing your pay: a little more than dinner and drinks, such as genuine friendship would do. Your talk whore might be in need of a talk whore herself, someone she can call at her own terms, someone who’ll stick around way beyond talking, and way into living itself.

To all of us who were, are, or will be talk whores, whoring can never be this noble. We change the world in a way, tilt the balance on the side of good, if that’s any consolation. We have an underappreciated, much demeaned job. But what the heck, by all means, and while I still can, I’ll keep on whoring.

Sotanghon Club

There's an epidemic of anorexia nervosa in town. After watching too many beauty pageants and reading too many beauty magazines all featuring women with waists as narrow as my upper arm and legs as small as my wrists, my co-fellows Diva and Thymes finally decided to get serious on being waifs. Even Meggy and Deggy have joined the bandwagon. We have been so enthusiastic about being big losers that even our section secretary Madam Ihhhsh is having Coke Zero for breakfast and lunch.

I have been on Metformin for months, delighting on the iatrogenic diarrhea it induces. Occasionally, I get samples of Orlistat from the kind med rep who knows I need whatever help I can get (because I'm broke and I can't afford my own bloody supply!). I've been losing weight at a snail's pace, but after 12 months, my pants are dropping and my ass is getting flat as a plank. Not a very good prognosis for my dream bikini before all the men I liked are all married, but good enough.

Then all of a sudden, Diva and Thymes began their terrifying 1000 calorie per day penance. Thymes' clothes are getting loose and she's showing her shoulders more often, Diva's white coat can now be draped around himself twice (exaggerating of course), and I'm like, oh no, they shouldn't catch up! After some snooping around, I discovered their dirty little secret - Lucky Me Sotanghon Lite!

This MSG-loaded low-calorie treat is sure to send a heart failure patient to acute congestion and a chronic kidney disease patient to emergency hemodialysis. Despite its extraordinary doses of preservatives and salt and whatever hazardous chemicals there are, we love it! A jumbo bowl is only 150 kcal and it's salty enough it can give you a headache after a few sips of its soup. Add one pack of Sky Flakes Lite and voila, you have a 280 calorie meal that leaves you sated (and sleepy as well).

After I discovered this Sotanghon meal, I couldn't help but be thankful that I (still) have a good heart and an OK pair of kidneys. If this is my ticket to being a Kate Moss or even a Natalie Portman (in The Black Swan), I wouldn't mind losing a few years of kidney life.

This morning I woke up with diarrhea. While I was going at it, I could smell Sotanghon all over. Guess what my poop looked like. Lucky Me Sotanghon Lite.

Bye, waifdom. I'd rather have my old poop back.

The Inconsistency of Happiness

Because I'm utterly deficient of it, happiness has been my usual focus of introspection during these past weeks. I usually imagine myself as an outsider, standing in the middle of a spinning universe, unable to participate, unable to appreciate the goods and bads of everything. I just stop and stare and get depressed about it.

Most people spend most of their lives pursuing happiness. A good friend once told me that people who think can never be happy because they attempt to understand its fleeting nature. Vainly, we try to freeze time for a moment to totally indulge in the sublime nature of happiness, and this ultimately leads to frustration and bouts of despair. Depressed introspective people, of which I'm a part of, sadly, will never be able to appreciate happiness wholly, because we know that the sensation will disappear as swiftly as it appeared.

Third-Life Crisis

While much has been said about the mid-life crisis and the quarter-life crisis, I have a different problem. I think I'm now stuck in this depthless ennui of the third-life, that time in my life when I realize that I've finished one third of my life and what do I have to show for it, nothing but huge lovehandles on my tummy, cellulite on my legs and my arms, several wrinkles and frown-lines that would never be erased off my face, an empty pocket and bank account, and an even emptier set of letters attached to my name indefinitely - MD. Medical Doctor for most, Matandang Dalaga for some, Malditang Dramatista for a few, and just plain nothing for me.

I have reached this point in my life when the things I used to enjoy no longer spark the same excitement. There is no desire to seek for new experiences, no longing to see new worlds. All that remains is the compulsion to stare at the clock and watch time pass by. There is no reason to wake up in the morning (play that crappy Nescafe bumabangon commercial), no energy to kindle passions, and no memory to bring them to mind.

For instance, the past 3 weeks, I have done nothing but watch pirated movies and downloaded TV shows, salivate over those brawny gladiators from the show Spartacus, while feasting on junkfood and all that fat and salt. Heck, I even watched Glee even if those kids suck in their petty existence and shallow lives. All these done while perched on the treadmill machine of the cardiology complex in my poverty-ridden hospital. Geeez, I don't even have an apartment where I can vegetate in. Now that is extreme poverty, isn't it?

I could not remember the last time I took care of myself enough for me to haul my lazy fat butt all the way to Roxas Boulevard for a jog. My camera bought 2 months ago is now rotting in my locker and I have turned down well-meaning friends who invite me for refreshing conversation, and even lied just to avoid them.

This is the time when you're 30-something and all your friends are either married, having babies, or planning on finding their lifetime partners. They're parading their new cars, new houses, or boasting about their first million. And then you look at yourself and realize that you actually live on a mattress propped on the treadmill machine of your office (not on the floor for fear of the cockroaches), you can't sleep beyond 5:15am because the office janitor arrives at 5:30am and you're scared you might be mistaken for a fat decomposing corpse or a junkie hiding in the treadmill room. This is the time when nothing is fun, nothing is exciting, nothing is beautiful, nothing is profound, nothing is worth doing, and all you really are and everything you've really done in your 30 years of pathetic existence is in fact, simply nothing.

And all you can do is wonder what's next, what is there to all these, and Lord, please Lord, help me get my groove back.